Fairy Tail Backstory Drabbles!
by ThatGuyYouMetOnce
Summary: This drabble series is not about various short shippy stories; rather, it's about backstory theories for characters with little to no information about their past. This covers characters all across the board, from a variety of backgrounds. Azuma, Yukino, Gildarts, Orga, BRAIN? The possibilities are endless.


**Hey hey hey! What's up guys? I finally got around to doing this! This is a new project of mine that hopefully people will like. Basically this "story" is a collection of drabbles for the pasts of Fairy Tail characters which are not really explained too much in the canon storyline- which is actually quite a bit of interesting characters we know very little about.**

 **This first story is about Azuma of Grimoire Heart, and I actually got so into it that I'm dividing it into two parts. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Fairy Tail Backstory Drabbles Ch. 1- Azuma Part 1**

What are trees?

I mean that in the least literal way possible. Are trees really just rings of wood around a central core, topped with leaves and bottomed out into roots, surrounded on the edge by bark?

If trees really are just that, then how are they alive?

Why, then, do trees grow towards the light? Is it because they seek sustenance, or because they fear the dark?

That which feels fear must be alive. That which is alive must have thoughts. If you follow my logic and deduce that trees have thoughts, then surely you must understand that trees are more than large sticks growing out of the ground. They live, they breathe, they think, and they feel.

And they speak.

At least, they do to me.

* * *

Shadows lengthen across the forest floor as the horizon engulfs the sun. It's an unusually late sunset today. Who knows why. Seems like there's a new natural phenomenon happening every day in Northbirch Forest.

I sigh and drop back down to the forest floor. I had better get back before anyone starts to get suspicious. The Elder Grove is a place no one but the Speaker can enter, and even that old fart is only allowed in here on holidays. The rule is very strictly enforced, even though it's only there as a practicality. Since the Speaker is the only one who can speak to trees, why let anyone else into the grove? Makes perfect sense.

Here's the thing, though: I can speak to trees, and I'm not the Speaker.

Isn't that weird?

Anyway, I bid Father Roman goodbye before I start to squeeze through the tiny hole I'd made in the Thornwall. I can hear his mottled old voice wishing me a safe journey, followed by a chorus of similarly mottled old voices from the rest of the Elders. I chuckle at their charming concerns for me. I'm not scared of anything, not even the most dangerous forest creatures in all of Northbirch.

Okay, I lied. Everyone is at least a little scared of the Nighthowler, but he doesn't exist anymore.

With that I disappear into the tunnel. It's a tight squeeze as always, but it's been widened bit by bit from countless visits. Before I know it I'm outside again. I lift my head up, stretch my arms back, and take a big, deep breath of the dusk air. That's the one downside to talking to the Elder Trees- they're so old that the air around them is perpetually stuffy.

I hear some rustling in the bushes to my right and figure I better get going. The forest creatures at this time of night can get pretty sc- _annoying_. They just take so long to beat the crap out of that, uh… they're just an inconvenience, and I usually just try to take the high road and let the monster live. My reflexes were on high alert the whole way home- at the slightest rustle in the bush, I quickly leapt out of the way of incoming attacks, even if they just turned out to be rabbits.

Incidentally, I apologize if my thoughts seem scattered. What with all the trees around me constantly talking and whatnot, there's a lot of voices I'm hearing all the time. It's hard to sort out my own thoughts in my head.

Thankfully, my journey was devoid of terrif- terri _bly annoying_ monsters. I reach a clearing, which is dominated by an extremely massive tree. He, whose name is Angus, greets me with his usual gruff but friendly bellow: "Oi there, Azuma, yer'd betta' hustl'up. Village curfew goes inta'fect'n three minutes, 'n yer don't want nothin' to do wit tha Chief's punishment, does ya?"

I give Angus' rough bark a good scratching in his favorite place. "No worries, man. A guy like me isn't scared of anything in these woods, especially not at night."

A twig cracks behind me, and I feel my reflexes kicking in again. I arch my back and let out a manly sque- grunt. A manly _grunt_. I quickly turn around to find whatever had sc- _startled_ me. At first I don't see anything, but as my eyes get more used to the gloom I notice a man standing in the shadows, leaning against the old bag Mrs. Matilda, and smoking a pipe.

He doesn't look like any man I've seen. First of all, his skin is lighter, just like what I've heard of those guys from distant countries. He holds a large mottled staff made of what looks like oak. He wears a long black cloak around his shoulders, and a piece of cloth over one of his eyes, and he has long, flowing white hair, reaching almost all the way down his back. He's old. Like, really, really old, old enough to be Father Roman's great-great-great-grandson. You know, if trees could have people as grandsons.

I am startled from my thoughts by Mrs. Matilda's shrieks: "Eeeek! This strange man is leaning on me! Stop that! Oh, Azuma! Do get him to stop leaning on me, would you?"

I sigh and roll my eyes. Never do a favor for Mrs. Matilda. She'll start calling you for the most random things, everything from clearing out termites to massaging her roots. I had to learn that the hard way. Anyway, as part of standard practice I ignore Mrs. Matilda and grab the ladder. I'm about to start climbing up Angus' trunk when I hear an unfamiliar voice.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'll stand up straight."

My jaw _drops_. I whip around to see the old man no longer leaning against Mrs. Matilda, but instead casually smoking his pipe just a few feet from me. He looks even creepier in the half moonlight. It takes a few seconds before he realizes I'm staring at him transfixed. "I was addressing," he speaks calmly and slowly, "the tree, not you."

He looks back down at his pipe. My jaw remains open.

About ten seconds later he speaks again. "I assume you are the Azuma this lady was addressing?"

The mention of my name brings me somewhat back to reality. "Yes, I…" I lose my train of thought as a result of the majority of my brain randomly deciding to focus on Mrs. Matilda's and Mr. Liverberry's gossip.

He takes the pipe out of his mouth and rolls it between his thumb and index finger, then tosses it to the ground. "Let me tell you a little something, kid." Although there is no chance in his demeanor, there is no mistaking the malice in his tone.

"If you were wise, you would not fear the dark."

And then he's gone. Only the pipe remains.

* * *

I'm doing my best to get what the creepy stranger said out of my head, but it's stuck in there real good. How the heck did he know that? I mean, _nobody_ knows I'm sc- _troubled_ by the dark; it's just something for me to know and for nobody else to find out.

"Oi, ye'd betta' hur'yup ther Azuma, tha curfew's up in therty sec'ns."

"I know, Angus, I know!" I scramble up the ladder as quickly as I can, silently cursing the foreign geezer. Why the heck did I even listen to him sprouting that nonsense? He's probably just senile anyway, just like the Chief.

I clamber over the edge of the main branch and sprint up the path towards my village. "Oi, Berka! Wait! Don't close the doors yet!" Berka, the tall, well-muscled gatekeeper, stops pushing the massive gates closed and turns around to see me.

"Yo! Azuma! You're just in time, buddy! Whatcha been up to today, pal?" I grin back up at the big guy as he ruffles my hair. "I tell you, you're getting stronger every day, buddy! Gettin' to look like your old man!" Berka has one of the widest grins I've ever seen, but it's only barely visible through his massive, bushy black beard.

"Sorry, Berka, I've gotta run! Lifa will kill me if I don't get my catch back in time for her to make supper!"

"Alright! Tell everyone I said hi!"

I dash past the gate and arrive at my village. It doesn't really have a name, but the geezers say outsiders call it "Momonga" because of the way we all live up in the trees. See, the whole village is built in Angus' enormous branches, but we don't have any bridges to connect the various platforms. So to get from one place to another, you have to hop there just like flying squirrels. The Chief says it's an ancient tradition that's designed to train our bodies, but I think all the Chiefs have just been too lazy to build bridges. At least, if you mess up even once and fall, Angus will probably catch you. Unless he's asleep. Or lazy.

I chat cordially with everyone whose platform I have to stop at on the way to my house. Even though our village is large, it's a very social one. For every single inhabitant of this village, I can tell you their name, birthday, eye color, favorite food, favorite tree in the forest, least favorite tree in the forest, what they had for dinner last night, what they wished they had for dinner last night, how many times they peed yesterday, and a whole lot more you probably wouldn't want to know. The point is, information here travels _fast_. That is, it's really hard to keep a secret here. Like, for example, if you could talk to trees even though you weren't the Speaker.

But I love the village more than anything else. It's of course the place that gave me life, the place where I grew up, the place I've been raised to protect, and that's also true for every other member of the village. Despite our size, we could not be more of a tight-knit community. Traveling through this village, I felt so happy that I completely forgot about the old guy.

Anyway, I'm finally home now. That's nice. Or, it would be if I weren't getting my forehead pounded with a large spoon.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me. You were out hunting the entire _day_ and all you have to show for it is one measly _baby mouse_? That's barely enough for _Dad_ , let alone all three of us!"

"No, Lifa, I swear I had three big squirrels too. I don't know where they went." Crap! They must'vefallen out of my pocket when I climbed the ladder real fast! That damn geezer!

"Uh-huh, a likely story," Lifa sneered. "And are you going to seriously tell me you _weren't_ off playing spellcasters with those stupid kids again?"

"They're called _mages_ , and no, I wasn't, you bitch," I muttered huffily.

I never learn, do I?

Ten minutes later, I lie bruised and beaten on the floor with my darling sister stomping on my chest. I angrily get to my feet and start yelling back at Lifa. Our shouts are starting to fill the room.

Now, Lifa is 21, six years older than me, and she's one of the toughest ladies you'll find around the village. She's twice as good a worker and hunter as most regular village folk. It's said she once slew an enormous rhino-deer just by glaring at it (I was there, too, but I decided I would let her handle it that time). She's also a mean cook, a master seamstress, and my friends always teased me about how pretty she is. She's basically perfect- that's why I can't stand her. She takes up too much of my own turf.

Oh yeah, and she also has to stay home all the time to take care of my ailing father.

As soon as that thought runs through my head, I realize just how little food I've actually brought and I immediately fall silent. My head slumps forward in shame. My sister, surprised at my sudden silence, follows suit. I slowly turn towards the quiet bed in the corner the living room.

"Hey, uh, Dad? Sorry I couldn't bring back much food for you."

The house is silent for about twenty seconds before Dad replies.

"Hey, uh, Azuma? I am so, so, sorry that you have to be sorry about something so trivial."

I feel a smile coming onto my face despite myself. Lifa sighs in amusement. "Well, I guess I'll just have to deal with what we've got. How 'bout you set the table, useless brother."

I barely even take notice of the insult. I love it when Dad talks. I wish it was easier for him to.

I go over and sit on the side of his bed. "Hey Dad, how were you doing today?"

He grins up at me. His smile manages to shine through even his wrinkled, scarred face. Despite the heavy bags underneath them, his eyes twinkle through think gray bangs. His whole face is framed and etched by innumerable smile marks. He weakly claps my hand in his own faded, shriveled one. "It was wonderful. Your sister sang me a lovely song, and-" At this point Dad breaks out into a violent fit of coughing, retching, and hacking up blood. He scratches at his face relentlessly, trying to fight off some unimaginable itch. The old scabs that covered his wrinkled skin started to reopen, oozing out a mixture of blood, pus, and some greenish fluid. He bucked and thrashed wildly, trying to throw off his sheets. It was all I could do to hold him down, despite his feeble state. After all, Dad used to be the greatest warrior in the village's history.

As quickly as it had begun, Dad's attack dies down. My sister frantically apologizes: "Oh god, I'm so sorry, Dad! I must have messed up the timing of your herb treatments." She quickly wipes his face clean and massages his shoulders with a practiced air. "Don't worry," she sooths in a singsong voice, "It'll be all right. We love you, Dad. Remember?"

My dad's frantic panting slowly ceases. The crazy look in his eyes vanishes, replaced by the familiar twinkle. "…so your sister sang me a wonderful song, Berka came by to say hello, and a friend of yours brought some berries and a note for you, Azuma."

That's the worst thing about Dad's illness: He doesn't even realize when he's had an attack.

He notices the anxious looks on our faces and frowns. "Did it happen again?"

We both nod silently.

My dad's frown immediately turns into a grin and he chuckles shakily. "Thanks a lot, kids. You two are the best-raised children ever. And I had practically nothing to do with it!" His chuckles quickly turn to giggles, then to as raucous a laugh as a man at the edge of death's door can produce.

And there's something about Dad's laugh that spreads to other people, and takes hold of your lungs and forces them to contract rapidly, and we start busting our guts and laughing at the stupid joke Dad made. And it really was stupid, because he had everything to do with raising us.

My mother died when I was born, and Dad had been sick pretty much ever since. And sure, we never did get to learn from him the type of stuff you might expect from a great warrior. But he did teach us about two things of the utmost importance.

The first was the value of life. And the second was the power of a smile.

I'm eating the berries Dad gave me, when I remember he said they left a note. It's stuck to the bottom of the basket. The note reads, in neat, loopy handwriting:

"Dear Azuma,

Meet me at the lapis shrine on Palenine Hill at midnight. I need to talk to you about something.

Aisuno"

My eyes are bulging out of their sockets for the next five minutes after reading that note.

This is going to be the best night of my life.

* * *

Turns out, it was the worst.

Because that night, the Nighthowler came.

* * *

 **Aaaaalright! Thanks so much for reading! Let's get those reviews/faves/follows goin' on! Let me know what you think of this idea!**

 **Also, I am very sorry for being a lazy bum and updating veeery slowly. :( I will try to update Purple in the Dark soon.**

 **Speaking of which, I have written other things too!**

 **Here, you can laugh at my amateur writing skills:**

s/10661169/1/Bonds-Scars (Just put this after fanfiction dot net slash, FF won't let me include the full URL)

 **And here, you can laugh at my slightly-less-amateur writing skills:**

s/10815095/1/Purple-in-the-Dark

 **Or of course you can just find them on my horribly-outdated profile!**

 **Anyway, thanks so much for reading my work. I wish you all a marvelous day!**


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